


the day you fall from the sky

by nutellamuffin



Series: as told by the flower [3]
Category: Ancient Greek Religion & Lore
Genre: Crying, Death, Elysium, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Flowers, Fluff, Hyacinthus Is A Good Boyfriend, Language of Flowers, POV First Person, POV Hyacinthus, Sad, Sort Of, Underworld, apollo is a wreck, but he's a wreck being fixed in this one, like a lot of crying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-12 00:35:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29501415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nutellamuffin/pseuds/nutellamuffin
Summary: when you fall from the sky, i have not time to catch you, nor to figure out why you are here.
Relationships: Apollo/Hyacinthus (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore)
Series: as told by the flower [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2143803
Comments: 8
Kudos: 13





	the day you fall from the sky

**Author's Note:**

> i go on and on and on and ON and i wont apologize bc i had a lot of fun. enjoy a collection of run on sentences about love and being sad.

when you fall from the sky, i have not time to catch you, nor to figure out why you are here. you land amongst blooms that share my name and you do not move. i cannot, either, for a moment that stretches far too long; and then you sit up, disoriented, and i catch your eyes.

you blink at me like i am the only thing that has ever made sense in your life, and with a hoarse voice that sounds as if you haven’t used it in decades, you ask where you are. your eyes are dulled to blue and you no longer glow and you seem so utterly, irreparably human.

my sandals catch the ground as i run to you. the blooms do not get damaged in my wake.

i breathe your name into your hair as i hold you to my chest, and you seem to break in my arms. you are whispering something that sounds like my name, over and over in a prayer, and you are clutching at my tunic as if it is the only thing tethering you to the ground.

you should not be here. you should never be here, especially not like this, but you do not explain; and something in your eyes tells me that you do not know enough to even begin. and i whisper, “i will keep you safe,” because you have been alone for too long.

i kiss your eyelids and you cry, and it is the most natural thing i know of you. more natural than your siren songs that are plucked from a lyre, and the nectar-sweet words you spin. i whisper honeyed words to you, and they will never be as beautiful as your own, but you hold onto them just the same. it is far more difficult to believe the words that come from your own mouth than someone else’s.

you are whimpering apologies to me. your cheek is pressed against mine, and your hands are grasping at my clothing, as if you cannot believe i will still be here when you let go. i am trying to press warmth into you, like you would to me so many lifetimes ago under the stars. it is not convincing enough, because your tears will not cease, and they no longer shimmer.

i take your hands in mine so that you may not rip at your hair, and they are shaking; i kiss your fingertips, murmur into your palm that it was not your fault, it couldn’t have been. i do not think you believe it, but you say nothing, staring at me like one stares at one's own reflection, seeing for the first time.

i tell you i love you and that seems to wound you more than heal. you say i should not, you say i never should have, and yet your hands are drawing me closer, closer, closer, for you to echo my words back to me. i would sit here, arms wrapped around you, kneeling beside you like i did once in our pasts, so long as you asked me not to let go. you do not ask, but your hands do not release me, and i do not wish them to.

i remember how i love every inch of you and how you would warn me, how you would take my hand in your own if i lingered on your scars and you would say,  _ do not ask me of these horrors, my love, they do not suit you.  _ you had kissed the crown of my head and held me as i slept and when i awoke, you were still beside me, glowing. you had the sky at your fingertips, and all i had at mine was you, and yet i would never wake up alone.

how long have you been waking up alone, my sun, to cry in such a way when i hold you?

i am frightened to think of new scars below your clothing; a lifetime ago they were like lightning bolts, how are they now? have they turned like your eyes have, from gold to blue; like your tears, from bottled sunshine to rivers of heartbreak? i swear to myself i will kiss every scar on your body, and as you shake in my arms, i seal my vow with my lips to your forehead. 

you are a shard of a god in a flower field of everything you have created for me. i wonder if it taunts you. you whisper how you wished to have given me more, and i tell you gently,  _ you have given me more than i deserve, mortals do not become flowers, _ because it is true.

eventually, your tears come to an end. you allow yourself to relax completely into a bed of purple flowers that lean towards you; you do not seem at peace, but you do not seem so distraught. the look in your stranger-blue eyes is much more worn than i have ever seen them and much more tired than anyone has a right to be. i lie down beside you, and you turn on your side to lay your head on my chest. it is different. you have only lain with me this way once, every night it was the opposite way around.

my fingers pass through your curls like water, without resistance. you are cold beneath my touch. i bury my nose in your hair, and you smell faintly of saltwater. even in death, you are beautiful, and even in death, i love you. i had always known what you were crying for, to whom your tears were dedicated; and now that you are quiet, i hope that you have realized how very real i am, and how i will not leave you again.

you do not cry for death, you cry for me. it is the bittersweetness of love.

i pray that the world has loved you in my absence, but the way you tremble against me does little to reassure me of that. for the world has always been cruel to you, my darling, and perhaps it is a gift that you were sent to me. i have always thanked the heavens for you, in life and death, in day and night, in light and dark. i thank them for you now, and all guilt of the action is relieved of me when i realize that it is a gift for you, as well.

the hyacinths tickle my skin as they grow around us. you cant your head backwards, and i lean down to kiss you. it is like taking my first breath in centuries.

**Author's Note:**

> yeah so my friend and i had this concept about apollo dying and ending up in hyacinthus’ part of elysium, because where else was he supposed to go?  
> or something like that  
> this is very possibly the best thing i’ve ever written so i hope you enjoyed


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